


flashcards

by flowersforlukey



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys Hugging, M/M, Odin is a good but wary father, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16936479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforlukey/pseuds/flowersforlukey
Summary: As a boy, Thor believes that it is nowhere far from the affection Frigga herself has always offered him. That it's innocent (of course it is)—it should be, and Thor cannot help but think that Loki had chosen to distance himself because things had grown much more differently than Thor ever wills himself to think.For years, he tries.





	flashcards

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back everyone! It feels so great to come back with another 10k fic. (also how could I forget the good ole pain I always kept spoon feeding you?)
> 
> Human AU has been my trope for the past couple months but i PROMISE I will bring back my two favorite Asgardian princes along with the non-brotherly acts they do.
> 
> Based on this fanart http://blargberries.tumblr.com/post/25408367096/bad-habits
> 
> Go check out @blargberries's art on tumblr, you'll mostly end up crying. Enjoy!

Based on [this](http://blargberries.tumblr.com/post/25408367096/bad-habits) fanart.

As a boy, Thor believes that it is nowhere far from the affection Frigga herself has always offered him. That it's innocent (of course it is)—it _should_ be, and Thor cannot help but think that Loki had chosen to distance himself because things had grown much more differently than Thor ever wills himself to think.

For years, he _tries_.

…

When Thor turns eight, he asks for his own makeshift basketball court and pleads Loki to play. Ever the sly and hesitant younger brother, Loki says something about finishing a book and retreats into their shared bedroom, leaving Thor in the backyard to shoot through the hoop himself.

Frigga tells Thor that Loki just isn't used to moving all over the place and facing things that well tower his small height. When he leaves Frigga's room that night, there's a tight frown plastered across his face. He goes back to their shared bedroom, and thinks about talking to his brother in the morning.

"What do you want to play with today?" Thor asks, when Loki finally stirs from the deep slumber across the mattress and rubs his balled fists into his eyes.

"I don't know," Loki tells him, yawning. "We don't play the same things."

"But basketball is fun," Thor insists, hoping the enthusiasm in his voice would be enough to spark some interest in his brother. It must, for every afternoon in the backyard is now spent alone with nothing but sounds of the ball bouncing from the towering hoop.

When Loki used to watch, he would laugh everytime Thor trips over his own shoes. Then Thor agitated, but no less ready for a challenge, would grab a fistful of dirt and throw it to the cotton of Loki's shirt. Loki would squeak in disgust, throw his arms over his head for protection, and break into a fit of laughter when Thor finally plunges an him at tackles him to the ground.

Thor doesn't remember seeing Loki in the backyard this week. He's never around, always hiding, now more engrossed in his books about dinosaurs and astronauts and constellations that speak from afar.

"It's fun for you," Loki frowns at him, tearing the sheets away from Thor and turning his back to him to face the wall. "For me, it's not."

As if in haste, Thor scoots closer to wrap an arm around Loki's shoulders. He tries to tug, but Loki won't budge, so he lies there breathing, wishing his brother would be sad no more, that they could play in the afternoon, that he'd be able to find himself interested in the books Loki himself has always been so pressed about.

"I'm sorry, it's just..." Thor trails off, staring straight into the sunlight that reflects against the strands of Loki's hair. "I miss playing with you."

Somehow, that makes Loki's small figure stir in his arms. With a hesitant look, he turns to face Thor with the frown now dissipated from his face.

"Me too." 

Thor pulls him in and tightens his hold. The hug doesn't last very long, for the wave of sleep that washes over them is so great that they nap for the whole morning with their arms still entangled.

When Odin finds them like that, he voices his concern to his wife, who then shushes him down and assures him that the boys had just been fresh from a misunderstanding and only needed the time to work things out.

No one thinks otherwise over the situation. For a while.

…

It’s when Thor meets a new boy from his class that he first finds Loki sniffling quietly behind the door of his classroom.

Fandral—blond, loud and rash, who’s equally tamed and more venturesome than Thor ever proudly claims himself to be—had stirred away from the discussion they were having about dodgeball and video games, and crooked his head quite exaggeratedly to peer at something over Thor’s shoulder.

“Thor,” he says, darting a pointed look to the door of their classroom. “Is that your brother?" 

A hiccup. It’s all that Thor hears before he’s turning around to face his brother’s all-too upset demeanour along with the hands clutching the books around his chest and the subtle tears that never seem to stop streaming down his cheeks.

“Loki!”

It doesn’t take long for Thor to run across the floor and take his younger brother’s face in his hands. Loki had only turned eleven two weeks before the new semester came around, but right now it’s as if he had grown so much younger than Thor could ever comprehend, for the fear in his eyes is as evident as the tremble of his legs appears, and at the sight of the oddly expressed display, Thor is forced to swallow down the worry.

“What happened, Loki?” Thor asks, frantic. Loki’s books drop to the ground, arms now limp and unsteady, and Thor uses the opportunity to examine his brother’s figure for bruises. “Are you hurt?”

There seems to be none, and Loki confirms the concern himself with a brief shake of his head.

“Did someone make fun of you? Push you around, throw your books to the lockers?”

“I’m not a child, Thor,” Loki hisses, pushing away from Thor’s hold on his jaw and angrily wiping the rest of the tears from his eyes. “I can well handle myself in situations like that, and you know it.”

“Then why are you crying like this?”

Thor knows that it’s not too much of a challenge to goad Loki into confessing whatever it is that troubles him so, but if there is one thing they both have in common, it’s pride. “I need to know who did this to you, Loki. I can’t promise to have your back if I don’t know who it is I will be fighting.”

Somehow, the honesty lacing his tone happens to ensure a few seconds of Loki actually _listening_ to what he says. Thor doesn’t speak of protection that much—prefers to just show it through his actions as an older sibling—but if it means being able to bring Loki to a certain sense of calm, swallowing his pride might just be worth it. 

And inch by inch does Loki’s face begin to soften. Thor ignores the pride swelling his chest and focuses on listening.

“I got called up by the teacher to read some dialogues from the book in front of the class,” Loki begins, barely trying to contain how his body shies away in the most subtle manner. He must be embarrassed. “It was one of the more sentimental confessions. The teacher promised me a fair amount of credit for the performance if it was well-spoken. When I finished, everyone had something to say about me being a ‘nerd barely suppressing his inner love for feminine plays’.”

“Oh, Loki.”

Thor feels himself frown at his younger brother’s confession. There is no denying that this is a pressing matter at hand, because Loki never cries in front of anyone, especially not in front of _Thor_ , who is his _brother_  and has promised him a world of safety even if it is only his arms he is able to offer.

Only when Loki tenses under his gaze does Thor remember to speak. His brother does not well tolerate pity, nor does he commend any form of reprimand. He learns well enough from his mistakes alone, so Thor does what he’s good at, and offers the encouragement he’s never failed to show his brother all the time.

“You’re not a nerd, at least not in a bad way.” Thor ruffles Loki’s hair with the hand that’s not resting upon the younger’s shoulder. “All of those kids are just jealous of you because you’re incredibly smart and intimidating.”

Loki folds his arms across his chest. “M’not intimidating.”

“Yes, you are,” Thor grins. “If not, you will be.”

For a while, Loki remains unspeaking. He spots the books he’s dropped to the floor and bends down to clutch at them again.

When Thor is sure that the tears have finally dried on his brother’s face, he jabs at Loki’s arm with an all-too knowing grin and leans his weight against his smaller figure.

“Whatever,” Loki grumbles, already in denial, voice ready to mock and scoff at whatever reminder of the previous outburst Thor has happened to prepare because whatever happened did _not_ justhappen. “Let’s just go home.”

So Thor tells him to wait outside for a moment, bids a quick farewell to Fandral when he retrieves his bag, and returns to Loki’s side so they could walk through the corridors together.

It’s when they’re outside standing in the campus grounds that Loki says something oddly random.

“All of the kids in my class are ugly anyway. Screw them all, everyone’s hair looks ridiculous.”

Thor nearly trips on his own feet as he struggles for air through a fit of laughter. He hasn’t heard Loki opt for such vulgar language, not since Thor himself had picked up a few cuss words from the numerous basketball videos he had been watching online.

Perhaps the sudden outburst of surprise evokes Loki into laughing with him as well, because despite the way he pushes Thor away from his lean frame, a small tentative grin does not fail to appear on his mouth.

And without thinking, Thor pulls his brother into his arms in a tightness that would seem far intolerable for person who does not appreciate human contact at _all,_ like Loki. Still, Loki does not pull away, and Thor is too caught up in the innocence of the embrace that he does not ever feel the discomfort that’s starting to twitch in his leg. 

When he looks far into things, he realizes that he doesn’t really remember the last time they had ever shared a hug. When they were but children, they’d do it out of habit. Now though, it just seems weird. Not different, just weird. They’re still brothers after all, just a lot more grown.

A car horn breaks into hearing range, and that’s when Thor knows that the relived moment with his brother is gone. Odin finds them like that—close and hugging, _too_ close for two boys who are about to step into their first few years of adolescence.

When they step into the backseat, neither of them risk speaking. Odin has set a stoic look upon them both from the rare-view mirror.

…

“You should risk nothing, my sons—boys shouldn’t hug.”

It incites anger in Thor, whereas to his understanding, his younger brother merely makes a display of the indifference he has never found difficult to conceal.

What does their father know anyway? Thor is Loki’s brother, and he is allowed to touch _him_  and comfort _him_  at least when the younger one of them is going through such waging personal dilemmas.

“It’s stupid,” Thor mutters, the reaction hastened under his breath. They’re still plastered on the couch, both of them glaring daggers at the spot on the other couch from where Odin had been pulled by Frigga to ‘discuss other matters at hand’.

Loki barely manages to kick his foot off the coffee table. He’s bored, Thor knows, it’s the only expression readable on his pale face.

“ _You’re_ stupid.”

“Ungrateful brat,” Thor grumbles, fishing a pillow out from where it was supporting his numbing arm and throwing it directly across his end of the couch to where Loki is sitting. “Who knows what you would’ve done if I wasn’t there for you? Run home crying alone? At least you had me!”

Loki sets him a glare. “Yes well, if _someone_  just wasn’t too concerned with rather uncomfortable public affection knowing _exactly_  how their own father would have reacted, then I would not have to sit through this again!”

Thor tries to bite his tongue. He really does, because in that second he wishes nothing more than to truly listen to the real intent well hidden in Loki’s voice.

Underneath that feigned venom is the unconscious longing for comfort. Despite what makes their day-long arguments appear as they are now, when only given the patience does Thor ever remember the same brotherly affection he’s held for Loki.

So when Loki forces himself from the couch and throws the broken remote control toward his chest, Thor does not dodge away.

…

That night, sleeping proves difficult for Thor. He likes to believe that it’s because there is no longer a lingering presence next to him to where empty sheets now lie unmade. It has been five years since Frigga had made them move into separate rooms, five years since Odin had thought them too old for the innocent habit.

He has no means of communication with Loki, except for the small telephone seated above his nightstand, which had been confiscated as another consequence to be faced aside from his rather loud rebuke earlier that afternoon.

In his head he counts the steps it takes to reach Loki’s room, and for a considerable amount of time, he finds it the short trip equally tiring and _not_ worth it because the likeliest thing to happen is for Loki to chuck him out the moment he steps into the hallway.

“Damn.” With a sigh, Thor sends one last glance at the bedside clock and leaves the room with heavy feet.

The hallway is dark as an alleyway, illuminated the slightest only by the window that greets him at the rear end. Thor doesn’t risk flicking the lights on for the fear of Odin waking up and finding him and whooping his ass back into his room.

For a beat, he curses Loki under his breath. His prideful, ignorant, and _impossibly_ overly-dramatic brother. Why must Thor ever be the one to reach out to him at times when the only person they could go crawling to is each other?

Bare feet pad along the floor ever so lightly, and even in his half-asleep state he understands the significance of keeping very minimal noise as to not attract the ears across the hall.

Thor really tries not to think about his parents, wills himself not to at least until he finally plants a hand around Loki’s doorknob. When he does, he turns it with a hesitant curl of his fingers. Would Loki be asleep now, or tossing around in his sheets as Thor had done?

He pushes the door into the room, far enough that an unforgiving amount of light enters the dark spaces and forces his brother to stir from a terribly chased sleep.

“Loki?” Thor whispers, poking his head in. “Can I come in?”

“No, Thor, get out!”

It’s a rather heavy pillow that slaps him across the face. With a loud wince Thor throws his head back at the painful sensation and reaches blindly for the nearest wall to hold himself grounded.

Fine then. Let Loki choose his own games.

Thor clutches the pillow tightly to his chest. He’s angry, so very angry at the world yet so determined to break Loki’s shell and peel his leeching body from its outer membrane and just crush him with his own bearing weight.

Thor takes three steps in, hiding his crunched face behind the pillow. “Loki,” he whispers.

Loki lies on the mattress facing the window. At the fanning eyelashes over pale skin, Thor notices that his eyes are sealed tightly, whether to feign sleep or display the truth of his need for it to keep his older brother away—Thor doesn’t know.

“Loki,” he tries again, this time hovering the bed and shadowing Loki’s limp figure. 

Thor awkwardly stands there for seconds he fails to count. He’s about to retreat with a tight frown on his face when slowly, _slowly _,__  the sheets trail down from Loki’s waist to his feet in an inviting manner that Thor struggles to even consider it an invitation at all.

But when Loki speaks, it’s when Thor realizes that he’s being welcomed into the warm space.

“Fine, just don’t tell dad,” Loki warns him, eyes still shut but body inching further into the bed to allow more space. “And close the door, will you?”

Thor does so with an incredulous speed. It is still with hesitance when he slips under the covers, and Loki proves to be no better host after all. For a stretch of seconds, a delicate amount of space remains between their bodies, with Thor’s chest to Loki’s back and eyes both slipped shut but sleepless.

It doesn’t take long for his nerves to drive him mad. In just another second, Thor thinks _screw it_  and closes the distance between them.

Loki’s body is impossibly stiff under the first touch, but it grows pliant when Thor shifts his hand and curls it around the dip of his waist. There’s a certain warmth there, one which Thor cannot name and understand yet he terribly aches for. One which he ignores only to focus on the bigger matter at hand. Surprisingly, Loki offers his consent to the contact by nudging his foot at Thor’s shin, so Thor takes the go signal and wraps his arm completely around Loki’s chest.

For a fleeting moment, through all arrays of his selfishness, he allows himself just one moment to think that Loki _might_  have smiled bashfully into the darkness.

Thor curls around him and Loki falls into his arms without a word spoken. It’s been long, _too_ long ever since he’s been given the opportunity to bring back this contact with his brother, and Thor grieves the time lost in between outbursts of rage and neglected time intended for each other.

He wonders if Loki grieves all the same, if the Loki now has indeed grown yet still holds as much memories of their shared youth. The idea of his brother forgetting them all with sincere intention triggers the churn of his stomach. Thor presses his face further into Loki’s neck and surprises himself when his brother shifts the very bit to allow him more access and comfort.

Thor decides that the idea is unlikely.

“I miss you,” Thor blurts out without even thinking. They don’t say that around each other anymore, not with Loki just having turned eleven, and Thor himself nearing fourteen, yet for absolutely no reason at all, Thor does not chide himself for the stale sentiment. 

And Loki, for all he knows, had pressed even closer while Thor managed to sleep soundly for the very first time in five years.

…

For Loki’s fifteenth birthday, Thor buys him a neat pair of Vans from the money Odin had gifted him after finishing high school. That was two years ago, and for two years he had been saving it all up for the sake of giving his younger brother something to treasure once he turns older.

“I know you hate running,” Thor teases. “So I trust that you’ll always watch where you’re stepping.”

Loki gives him a brief smile in return, demeanor sly but hands holding onto the pair of sneakers all the way. “Thanks, Thor.”

With firm yet tentative arms, Thor pulls Loki into an embrace. It’s awkward and stiff yet he relishes in the scowl that Loki sets him with.

Some time before the evening, Thor catches his father place a hand above his brother’s shoulder. His own legs are leaning against the banister of their lounge, worn-out from having walked all around the house to entertain Loki’s guests, so he couldn’t make out the sounds of talking from where Loki and Odin stood in front of the door, but Thor hopes that it was nothing pressing at least.

He proves himself wrong later that night when Loki clicks the door to Thor’s room shut after silently slipping in.

Thor couldn’t see anything at first. The only thing he is able to make out is the sound of Loki crying and his lean figure heaving at the foot of the bed. Thor rushes to him in an instant. 

“Loki?”

“ _Jesus,_ Thor,” wiping at his eyes, Loki breaks into humorless laughter. “I thought dad changed.”

Flashes of the party fly past his eyes, yet Thor is able to place his bet on nothing.

“What do you mean?”

Seeming to find difficulty in answering, Loki sits back on his heals and faces Thor without saying anything. Now he could see Loki’s face, for the streaks of light that illuminate the room had fanned perfectly over Loki’s swollen eyes.

“Remember the guy I met in literature last semester?”

“Gostav?”

“Yeah,” Loki nods, and Thor is able to see the shift in Loki’s expression even before his brother notices it himself. “Dad found out we’re dating.”

It’s a second of silence amplified by the confusion swimming inside his head because _first_ of all, he definitely does not remember Loki telling him  _anything_ about this Gostav and just weeks later, Thor comes to this, finding out the last second that his brother is already _dating_  the guy.

Second—which admittedly, Thor has to say it _does_  take him by surprise—Loki has never told him about being _gay _.__ Or bi for that matter, if Loki would even allow Thor to count the very first two girls he had been linked with before.

The thing is, Thor doesn’t exactly know what to do with the information. He feels as if he’s been handed twenty watermelons by a stranger and asked to do as he pleases, yet finds it difficult because he doesn’t know _how _.__

It’s even more of a pressure now that Loki is staring at him with a very expectant look. Thor must say something now, be the older and more mature brother that he is, though somehow he cannot seem to shake the thought away of Loki actually having a brain twice as large as his own, for his younger brother had always been admittedly more rational than himself.

When he fails a reaction, it almost seems as if Loki is ready to leave the room and spare himself from unforeseen embarrassment until:

“Remember what dad told us when we were but kids?”

Thor flinches.

It’s not a question he expects from his brother at this time of the night, but he makes a show of rubbing his fingers over his jaw even though he knows _exactly_  where Loki is getting at.

“Something about boys supposedly not hugging?”

“Right,” Loki breathes. Something kicks at Thor’s gut. “Father does not approve of Gostav, says I got this unbecoming preference because I was influenced by _your_  oddly displayed behavior before.”

“What?”

“Thanks, Thor,” Loki says in finality. Thor does not miss the way his face flashed with hurt, and how those two words of gratitude had meant something entirely different just hours before that moment.

Loki slips out of the room in the same silence he harbored when entering. The next morning, Thor fears he might wake up to a table of two instead of three, and when he goes downstairs to stop himself from over-analyzing, he proves himself disappointed to find only Frigga nestling her hands above the wood.

It’s when Loki enters college that Thor outright notices the change.

“Your brother had a… _dilemma,_ which had to be dealt with,” Odin had explained, when Thor marched straight into his parents’ room to demand just _what_  they did for Loki to ignore him two weeks straight since the party.

Thor had let out a humorless chuckle. “Oh, is that how you call it now? An problem of some sort which you think you can fix and hope it’ll go away?”

“Loki acts no longer with his head and it’s all because of his _friend _!__  You cannot expect me to condemn what indignity he has brought upon us!”

Thor sees red.

“Loki’s acts are not for you to condemn!” He’s breathing through his flaring nostrils, back heaving at every word spoken. “There’s nothing wrong with his preference, dad, and while you may not be supportive of Loki’s choices, you _can’t_  just ask him to break things off with that guy.”

“And here you try to pursue me because you yourself feel responsible for your actions as a child. Vain and greedy boy!”

“What?” Thor splutters because this _cannot_ be happening right now.

“I have warned you well, my son.”

It’s true that Odin has never been discreet about his dislike for such displays of affection, but unlike him, Thor had always found it odd to press the matter between two growing boys who had shared a bond which every other sibling would treasure.

What makes him angry though, is that Odin sees no fault in his previous judgement over the past few years, which leaves Thor with the weight of the blame now that Loki has _changed_  and Odin has found himself eager to feel displeasure over his younger son’s whereabouts once more.

To hell with his father’s problem over hugging.

The now-family’s dilemma stretches as far into the years when Loki moves out for college. Thor had been the first one to spend three years in the apartment his parents had chosen for him, and for three years Loki makes minimal contact with him from their parent’s house through interrupted calls and well-forced text messages.

Thor remembers Frigga visiting him in his apartment, after having spent the past fifteen minutes walking down the street from his college campus.

“He does not resent you,” Frigga had assured him, sensing the storm in his head and in his heart, fingers clutching at his hand to offer comfort. “Loki only wishes that you had both acted out differently in the past.”

Still, Thor failed to understand the wrongness of how _he_  had acted towards Loki in their youth.

At Thor’s fourth year in college, Loki moves into the same apartment. It’s his first year in the campus, first year testing out the waters of Atlanta college, first year he’ll be spending with his brother after having been separated from him for _three _.__

Yet Thor still doesn’t know where it all went wrong. 

…

“It’s not like that, mom, and you know it,” Thor sighs and buries his head into his hands for the umpteenth time. He nearly squeezes the phone out of his hand out of sheer frustration. “And we don’t _actually_ talk every night.”

“It’s what your brother tells me,” prompts Frigga.

“And he tells you everything?”

Frigga has been pouncing him with questions for the past hour and Thor doesn’t seem to take kindly the fact that the only conversation he’s had with her this week is all seemingly ending up being about Loki and his childish whims.

 _Especially_ because he and Loki had both left the apartment earlier that morning in very irritable moods and Thor just cannot afford to doubt that Loki had taken every opportunity to inform their dear mother of their most recent argument.

“Well, he tells me about the food you feed him.”

“And?” Thor presses, endearingly curious. “Has he said anything about me burning the lasagna?”

“No, fortunately.”

“Well, has he said anything about _him_ burning the lasagna?”

“Thor,” Frigga says in finality. So much for distracting the person from the matter at hand. He hears his mother sigh from the other end of the line and braces himself for her infamous disapproving voice. “You can’t leave him for a friend for two nights, especially if you didn't fill the fridge and took the car that brings him to college every morning.”

“I _told_  him that I would be leaving for Fandral’s on Tuesday and he did nothing but ignore me that day until he was finally acting all cranky when I came back this morning.”

“I suppose you understand that your brother still requires the supervision he repeatedly denies.”

Thor groans loudly into the kitchen because what the absolute hell?

“He can feed himself, mom,” Thor argues. “I left him a stack of cash. I know this because _apparently_ he hasn’t been needing me of late.”

If his mother displays a sign of weariness, it’s heard in her voice. He knows that tone, finds it more familiar than uncanny for he’s heard that since both him and Loki had taken their very first step away from each other.

“Loki just needs the burden of family.”

“Oh trust me,” Thor’s stomach turns in a seemingly unpleasant way. “He _does._ ”

Sounds of an engine float in, and Thor lifts his head from his desk to glance at the car that’s now pulling up into the driveway. He had allowed Loki to take the vehicle to class that morning as though to offer penitence, but still Thor cannot shake the feeling of dread from his head whenever he thinks about his brother blinking a second late at a stop sign.

At the sound of keys ringing, Thor bids his mother good bye and promises to _try_ and make amends with his brother tonight.

“Do not risk riling him up,” Frigga warns. “Unless you want him to stress over his papers.”

Thor could only sigh in return. “I’ll try not to.”

Loki enters the room without so much as a glance to Thor’s direction. His hands are empty except for the car keys and the bag he uses to store papers with. Thor doesn’t point it out, but Loki’s supposed to have a box of Chinese with him.

Thor drops his phone and watches his brother settle. “Have you eaten?”

Loki looks up from where he’s trying to remove his shoes. “I haven’t.”

“Then I’m steaming you some prawns.”

It’s probably an instinct—an act of reflex to ask what is wrong and attend to what is needed. Thor is already up from his seat when Loki speaks so suddenly that it forces him to halt in his tracks.

“I’m not hungry, Thor.”

It’s so _easy _,__ to shrug the offer off and walk away. Easy to claim that Thor is not needed, that Loki is merely concealing all signs of his hunger, that the papers in his hands are ever more important than sparing a glance to his older brother to ask about dinner.

That’s all they ever do now—trying to reach out to each other but pulling away at the last second. An arrival to a full circle, a paradox unaccepted even in the depths of Thor’s understanding.

He tries so hard to remain staring at the floor, but with the incomprehensible yet familiar flicker in Loki’s eyes, Thor finds it difficult to break away.

So he stares back. Loki is no longer fumbling with his shoes. He stands there simply at the doorstep, face unflinching, appearing to look seconds away from leaving the apartment all at once if only his hesitant feet didn’t give away his inclination to stay. 

Thor grieves still. He doesn’t know what went wrong to make this short yet mutual lingering between them feel as though they’re nothing but already healing wounds he wishes nothing more than to scrape again.

But then the moment ends too soon, and Thor is left yet again trying to pick the pieces up and figuring out just what went wrong between them this time.

Loki turns around and begins retreating from the area. Thor calls after him. “Where are you going?”

“To my room.”

“Why?” Thor asks, and it’s almost like a plea. There’s a firm hand on the kitchen counter to steady himself.

In case he collapses.

Loki turns to him, almost hesitantly, a line on his face so rigid that it hardens every flawless feature.

“What you mean _why?_ ”

 _You know what _,__  Thor wants to say. _Why every night is almost a night dreaded to be faced and your room is treated a sanctuary in which you can hide from me._

It’s everything he wants to say. Instead, he says nothing. Loki slams the door extra loudly to further emphasize his irritation when Thor fails to answer his question.

Later that night when he’s on the brink of sleep, Thor tries to understand why he feels so empty inside.

…

It’s at a Halloween party that things begin to turn downhill.

Fandral (who had three swigs of vodka that time) had made a show of mouthing off moving into his parents’ other house as a reward for nearly making it towards the end of college.

That much was already enough, until Volstagg had clapped him twice on the back and drunkenly jested about inviting the whole campus for the year’s Halloween season.

“I call dibs on the celebratory alcohol, then!” Volstagg howled into laughter, pointing a finger to Fandral’s direction. “And no chickening out, understood?”

Sif barely suppressed her snigger, already half-expecting the arrogant blond to turn out the rather absurd dare. So when Fandral mirrored the obnoxious laughter and chugged another bottle in reply, Thor sensed how his instinct was telling him that things were going to roll _unluckily_ for him _ _.__

Naturally, Thor had invited Loki to the house party, had almost thought on offering to drive his brother there and then going completely against it the last second because he knew how terribly things would definitely go in the car.

Now, just thirty minutes into the party, behind throngs of leather-clad college students, Thor finds himself turning the knob when the door bell rings throughout the lounge.

He pulls it open. Loki’s face appears before him. Grim. Slightly disgruntled. Nearly smiling. _Radiant._

Obviously smug, as if to say _I actually came, brother._

“Ah, Loki!”

Completely disregarding the background of acquaintances, Thor surges forward and pulls Loki into a welcoming embrace without a second thought. It’s awkward, and Loki visibly stiffens against him. They haven’t done this in years.

He hadn’t really expected Loki to come along. Thor knows that Loki doesn’t really want to step an inch into the damned party, knows that his brother came only because Thor had knocked on his bedroom door for no less then fifteen minutes while Loki was already in bed in hopes of fully convincing him to chaperone.

Still, the fact that Loki actually came through takes him aback, gives him a millisecond spent appreciating his younger brother for still caring.

What does _not_ take him by surprise, however, is how Loki shoves him away by the shoulder and sets him with a warning glare.

“There are people, Thor.” 

Thor opens the door wider for Loki to step in, despite grunting in reply, “you’re in a sour mood.”

“Whatever.”

He leads Loki inside, lets him push through the throng of people without so much as a glance to Fandral when he walks in front of the newcomer and welcomes him with a clap on the shoulder.

“Your house reeks of liquor,” Loki comments, grimacing at the still grinning Fandral. He’s drunk. “Perhaps you have something equally intoxicating that would not bite at my nose?”

Thor spots a couple of people filing out the second kitchen and nudges Loki’s elbow toward the direction. “They’ve got some beer stacked.”

“Hmm no, I don’t think so." 

Thor sighs. Now he’s beginning to regret ever inviting Loki at all. Why must his brother always make a fuss about what other people lack?

Despite himself, Thor reaches for the nearest glass of tequila and shoves it into Loki’s hands in irritation. Loki takes it without a single protest.

“Now will you stop complaining, please?” Thor admonishes. He’s tired. He really is. “I brought you here thinking that you’d cut some slack and actually make some effort to spend time with me, but all you ever do is make things harder.”

It’s when Loki flashes him nothing but a smirk that Thor regrets ever saying anything. Perhaps he’s been caught at the foot again, when his vulnerable side inevitably sticks out like a sore thumb against Loki’s rather openly displayed indifference, and he’s left with the feeling of helplessness that there’s nothing he can do but accept that he’s losing.

Losing _what_ , Thor doesn’t know.

So he shakes his head and storms out of the room. Thor does so without sparing a glance to his nuisance of a brother because all he sees are beer pong players and contrasting disco lights and red, red, _red._

He doesn’t see Loki after completely losing himself in the house. Truly, Fandral hadn’t been shitting them about actually owning a mansion that’s twice as spacious as his parents’ as a parting gift from college itself. Now that Thor thinks back to where he’s currently perched against sofa’s armrest in the lounge, with absolutely no one at all, he just might save off some of his time to send his friend the gratitude he’s due.

“Thor!”

Sif’s voice finds him like a boar nestling through the forest in sharp strides—quick and knowing. She doesn’t come alone, for it is Volstagg he first sees when Thor finally lifts his head in genuine interest.

“We haven’t seen you anywhere!" 

Thor laughs. Nothing in particular is actually funny. He laughs because he’s been sitting alone for thirty minutes ever since he walked away from Loki, and Fandral hadn’t been anywhere to be found, and neither _Hogun_ nor _Sif_ were around and everything is just plainly _absurd._

Also:

“Yeah, been knocked out for a while. Have you seen my brother?”

“Er.” Volstagg brings a hand to scratch at his neck in a way that tells Thor that they haven’t. Sif barely rolls her eyes before hauling him off the sofa and dragging him to the nearest kitchen stool.

“Drink. _Now._ ”

Seven drowned shots and two involuntary slaps to the face later, Thor finds himself half-assed gliding across the floor to where a couch lies open and empty and tempting as if beckoning him to fall upon.

He begins to wonder about wallpapers—why must they be so bright, so inconsistent, and very ugly looking with those patterns? Thor hadn’t even bothered with those when Frigga had insisted on personally customizing his room back in his apartment.

Then again Loki _liked_  decorating, and it was always him who found it such a necessity to match up newly purchased items with his personal taste evidently observed back home.

Thor looks down at the drink in his hands. Right. Loki. His brother, in this party, whom he cannot find right now. Would it be bad to feel as though he’s clung to his brother with a leash and feel that the said leash is now beyond his fingers?

It must be a side-effect from the alcohol, this feeling of dread and worry and… _emptiness_ that’s turning his stomach. Thor wonders if it would help to just puke it all out.

Suddenly there’s a voice. And a hand. And they’re all reaching out to Thor in blurred waves of nausea that poke his throat into making an ugly retching sound. Thor looks back to check if either the voice or hand is his brother. It’s not. Hogun blinks blankly at him before throwing a stack of cards into his face.

“The hell man?”

“Play,” is the only thing that Hogun says.

Seconds later the couch dips with additional weight. Thor settles at the far end, scanning the four heads swarming his vision and repeatedly ignoring the fact that he can’t help but search for another one.

Sif sighs when Fandral stumbles upon sitting cross-legged on the floor. Volstagg insists on drowning his drink before partaking in the game. Thor ignores that too.

And when he’s about to shuffle the deck of cards in his hands, it’s only then that he realizes that Hogun is gone from the group.

“Oh no.”

Loki’s voice is barely recognizable. Among all the other drinks Fandral had made sure to keep _away_ from very particular guests, Thor is sure nothing would come close to actually ruining his brother’s throat to the point where he’s actually beginning to sound like he’s just sucked someone off. 

Thor drops the cards to the carpet. Holy _shit._

“I thought I’ve made it clear in the past that your company as a whole doesn’t make me feel less tedious around you.”

Thor looks back to where he sees Hogun practically dragging his brother from the hallway to the circle they’ve formed on the carpet. Loki does not look the least amused.

He goes for the couch anyway, unwillingly wedging himself between Thor and Sif after _somebody_  totally didn’t drag him to the spot. Loki sits back with all finesse, a fine contrast to Thor’s figure slumping against the back rest. He turns his head, finds Loki sporting tight frown, and mirrors one on his own face.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Loki turns to him at the perk of conversation. One of his eyebrows rise questioningly.

“Your concern?”

Thor checks for fresh bruises against pale skin. An aftershave of axe, the tinge of liquor traces on clothes. Nothing. So no mystery sex for his brother then?

Except…

“ _Relax,_ Thor. That should be none of your business.”

In an instant, it’s dropped. Thor knows better than to push Loki to his boundaries.

The game begins, and suddenly Thor doesn’t really feel like playing the game anymore. Sif shoos him away once he declines the cards, and leaves him be at the far end of the couch as Loki takes the cards instead and makes his play.

It’s all too amusing to watch Loki own the game as he’s always had. He’s practically cheating at the moment, but they don’t have to know that, not when Fandral is passed out on the couch and Hogun is ever the only one who’s still a little far from looking close to Volstagg and Sif’s current state.

All of Thor’s friends are drunk. Loki isn’t. And Loki is so _close_  as he sits next to him on the couch and Thor is fuming in misplaced _anger._

Angry at what, he doesn’t know. But Thor is angry, so very angry that Hogun had been stealing knowing glances around the circle knowing that he’s actually going to win, angry over their father when Odin had engraved those words into their heads as fumbling boys, angry because Loki is never around but now he _is_  and he’s so close yet still so very _far._

Thor slumps against Loki’s shoulder only to be shoved away with a sharp jerk. He glances up to meet his brother’s warning glare as he continues the game before once again returning to Loki’s shoulder and latching to the clothed limb like a leach.

Oh, Thor is so very drunk at the moment. And no, drunk people almost never think straight. Without so much as a second thought, Thor pushes his head upward and mouths at Loki’s clothed skin.

“I _miss_  you.”

The cards fall from almost instantly from Loki’s fingers. Thor is only ever sober enough to hear the victorious laugh Hogun lets out upon the sudden display of defeat. The body beneath Thor’s cheek stiffens like stubborn cement. Loki rises up, shoving Thor away in the process, and wrapping a bruising grip around one of Thor’s wrists.

“Excuse me,” Loki says, perhaps to the barely awake group. Somehow there’s an edge to his voice that tells Thor how he’s going to end up shitting his pants in the next few seconds. “It seems as though Thor has had too much liquor to drink.”

He’s screwed. Loki is never a wonderful sight when he’s angry.

Thor is dragged into a dark corridor, one which cost Loki a long agonizing trip through a swarm of bodies before finally catching a glimpse of plain solitude. There’s almost no one in this area of the house, and Thor spends enough time expressing his gratitude that no one would be around to witness how his very dignity would once again be humiliated by his own brother.

Loki only lets him go when he’s finally shoved Thor to a wall near the window. It’s not a gentle push either. At least part of Thor’s brain is sobering enough to formulate whatever response Loki would have to demand from him.

“Are you out of your _mind?_ ” Loki all but spits at him. The rage in his eyes grow into flames Thor dares not relish in.

Loki is a heaving mess in the dim corridor, angry and flustered and downright pissed. Light sheds just feet from where they stand, barely managed through Thor’s peripheral vision to see how both of Loki’s hands shook in unsound constant sweeps.

“I…”

Thor ends up trailing off and sighs in defeat. He’s drunk and tired but he listens because he knows why. He _knows_ why _ _.__

Why Loki is staring at him now with such evident disappointment, as if he’s broken his trust, as if Thor had crossed the line Loki hoped that both of them had sworn to never cross again in any lifetime.

He _knows,_ because Thor had done exactly just that.

“Thor,” Loki speaks, hushed but full of held back rage. He’s holding back. He shouldn’t. “We’ve put this behind us for _years._ We can’t look back now.”

“I’m sorry, I just…" Thor sighs, trailing off. What the hell was he thinking? "I need you, Loki."

Despite being embarrassed from the confession, he continues. 

"We never really _hang_ anymore and I feel like you’re always running away despite actually _being_  there and _fuck..._ " Thor breathes. He doesn't know why his chest suddenly feels like a thousand boulders. "it’s been eating me alive."

Loki throws his head to the side at the confession. Thor doesn’t know if it’s a sign of Loki's reluctance to actually accept the words none of them had ever had the guts to bring out in the air.

“You know why this had to happen Thor,” Loki says. “Father on the wrong, bringing me down with him, _forcing_  me to detach from the only guy that made high school bearable for me because you weren’t there… You think I asked for this?”

 _No, I don’t_ , Thor wants to say, after flicking through the disarray of thoughts inside his head and fighting the taunt of his tears.

He blinks them back nonetheless. The words die on his tongue and Thor swallows the nonexistent bile in his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

If there was any sign of Thor’s loss for any sane response worthy of mentioning, those two words would be an indication.

Loki doesn’t say anything in return. With a breath he turns his back to his brother, running a hand through jet black strands on his head, leaves Thor waiting for the drop of a bomb.

“I hate how we were raised, Thor.”

 _Of course he does,_ Thor thinks. He hasn’t forgotten the reason why since.

Loki turns to him, and Thor’s breath hitches in his throat as he sees just how much _this_ is hurting his brother.

“I hate dad,” Loki confesses. Thor braces himself for the stab of those words. “I hate the things he taught us. I hate that he sent you unnecessarily far away for college, and I hate that you came back years later and acted as if none of it ever happened… like I wasn’t scarred with the idea that what we shared as kids was wrong when all I ever hoped for was for it to seem right.”

It all came out through one breath. Loki’s words are daggers sent straight through his heartstrings that Thor is left bending over and clutching to whatever thread between them may remain.

He might not have the strength to admit it now, but no matter how differently things turn out, Thor will always, always end up _losing._

It is what’s happening now.

Thor reaches out, and Loki turns away before his older brother could even grab an inch of his shirt. He retreats into the light, urging Thor to just drop it. “Let’s just go _,_ Thor. They’re probably looking for us. _”_

“No Loki, wait.”

Then his fingers are gripping a handful of Loki’s shirt. Thor doesn’t know what he’s stopping him for but that doesn’t matter now when Loki’s eyes are straining him with a long look of contemplation.

It’s in those very same eyes that Thor first felt familiarity. Home. A knock at closed doors when midnight comes and thunder cracks the sky into burnt fragments of what was.

Thor doesn’t know much about fear. He’d learnt to grow out of his childish whims when Loki had been the one so fond of inflicting the emotion to himself, and Thor had only ever been the one who managed to soothe him out of it.

But at this very moment, with his fingers grasping tightly onto Loki’s shirt and his eyes taken aback by the hit of home in his brother’s, Thor finds himself running back.

Lights are lit so dimly that Thor fails to see the similar expression of fear resembled across Loki’s face. He lets a second pass—one, two—leans in, and kisses his brother.

To be fair, this isn’t how Thor pictured ending his night at all.

 _This _,__ Thor thinks, _is what home feels like._

There’s a momentary pause of shock that transpires as all of it happens in panicked silence. Loki neither pulls away or pushes him off at the unexpected contact. Thor doesn’t even know if he’s supposed to find that comforting at all.

He pulls away, however, when the tension just seems to have grown much thicker and the confusion and betrayal swarming in Loki’s eyes has become too agonizing to ever become bearable.

Thor does not look at him. Loki does nothing to encourage his rage. Perhaps Thor hasn’t realized it yet, but Loki has a firm and steady grip around his biceps.

Guilt washes over him along with the reoccurring taunt of a menace. Thor dares not look towards Loki’s direction, afraid he might see the last ounce of trust his younger brother had in him, fall into the indefinite void of indifference.

Thor opens his mouth to apologize. He still his voice but words could barely even escape.

“Loki, I’m—”

Loki doesn’t even let him finish before he’s lapping up Thor himself, slotting their mouths back together in careful sweeps, testing out whatever it was that had been deprived from them before they even knew that they needed it.

Thor barely bites back his sob. None of this is even a part of the plan when earlier he decided that fear was just something he was only feeling for the first time and the only way to actually overcome the suddenness of the emotion was to just deal with it and face the biggest hint at trouble that’s been laid in front of his eyes all these years.

_I have warned you well, my son._

Thor pushes back with his mouth and ties both of Loki’s arms around his neck. And no, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that they’re doing _exactly_  what their father feared they would put up against, and he doesn’t care that Loki seems to want it too enough to open up so willingly and eagerly to Thor after having shut himself from his family a few years back.

He doesn’t care that it’s wrong, that it’s _supposed_  to feel wrong when in reality Thor feels like he’s never really made a such logical decision until now.

With his eyes closed, Thor pictures two small boys under thick duvets. In his memory, one of them holds the smaller one with such grit and courage, and two pairs of arms interlock with the same purpose to protect and to feel safe.

Loki pulls at him tighter, falling backwards against the wall and using it for support. He doesn’t stop, and Thor wonders why his brother _isn’t_  stopping, wonders why he himself cannot speak for the two of them and actually _try_ to put a stop to this madness.

It’s not too long before his brain finally clicks everything in place—that the emptiness he’s felt from losing Loki throughout the years is far too great of a wound to ignore when he’s finally got the chance to heal all traces of pain with a simple _I miss you _.__

Perhaps this is why the distance between them existed in the first place. Perhaps it is because Thor had too much of himself to give with Loki accepting little to none of it, that every instance of them going through the same messed-up cycle had them exhausted and wishing for one last chance to recoil.

And this is when they _do_ recoil, when they finally put a halt to reaching out to each other and retreating at the last second. This is Thor proving his sincerity to _care_  and Loki willing himself to just _accept _.__

In their youth they were both told off to stray from what was once unspoken, afraid that both brothers would address the matter instead of leaving it to the innocence of their minds to forget later on.

Now though, Thor realizes why he hadn’t let go of the habit of holding his brother close. He finally understands why their father had always been keen on separating them and molding their behaviors into what seemed to turn boys into men. He looks back to when Loki had still been younger in terms of rational thinking, to when he finally understood their father’s anger, to when he ended up distancing himself from Thor to prevent making the problem worse.

Because no matter how much Loki showed his reluctance, Thor always seemed to be too close, too near, always penetrating private spaces.

He used to fail to understand why, but looking back now, Thor could say that it is because he simply refuses to let everything stop.

 _Because_ he didn’t want it to end. That much was understandable.

Footsteps float in, along with a sing-song announcement of someone’s arrival, and Thor lets out a deep breath when Loki springs away from him. Both of his hands are shaking. He doesn’t check to see if Loki’s are shaking as well.

“Hey,” Sif greets as she walks in. Thor only hopes that it’s dark enough to even see an inch of their faces. “I thought you guys were leaving.”

“We were,” Loki answers, clearly the better talker. One of his hands blindly finds Thor’s and begins pulling both of them past the stoned brunette and into the crowded hallway. They don’t bother sending her a signal of their departure.

Once they’re out in the front yard, it’s when Thor actually begins to feel dread over the reality of the situation. Loki stops their pace, releases Thor’s hand and turns to him with an unreadable expression.

“Let’s go home, Thor.”

Thor ends up driving them home, despite finding it more acceptable to have Loki on the driver’s seat to steer them away from any drunken accidents. Instead, his younger brother remains curled in the passenger seat, with his head against the window and eyes unmoving from the right side of the road.

Thor occasionally casts him glances to check if something wrong turns up. Nothing too bothersome actually happens, and they remain unspeaking for the rest of the ride.

… 

There have been times when Thor had been tempted to just ask their father _why _.__

In the recent weeks into his first year in secondary school, Thor notices how his father has been sending him looks across the campus driveway upon picking his sons up. They’re wary, but offering no more of an explanation as to why they were being sent to his direction in the first place.

But Thor could only handle enough secrets a day. How Odin would flick his eyes over his hand as it rests over Loki’s backpack when they walk. How his grunts would somehow grow louder whenever Loki talked more about football players than cheerleaders over dinner.

Thor had still been young, but he knew how to ask the right questions.

“Mom,” Thor had said, barely suppressing his worry from the doorstep to Frigga’s room as he watched her fumble around in front of the mirror. “It’s dad again.”

That night, Frigga had smothered his doubt by assuring him that he’d have nothing to worry about as long as he takes care of himself and looks over his brother at all times. 

She didn’t say to what extent though.

He grew up having twice as more questions than before, but now finally dreading the truth in those answers, he found it difficult to ask anything at all again.

...

Thor doesn’t immediately exit the car after pulling into the driveway. He stays there unmoving, watching Loki wordlessly step out of the vehicle, and waits for him to enter the building before pressing his head flat against the steering wheel.

Fuck.

It won’t be hard to tell exactly how much damage he’s done to their mending relationship. Though the idea is unlikely, Loki going through tomorrow with his still fragile demeanor would still do. Wake up, demand breakfast from Thor, and leave with the car to drive straight to college.

What _won’t_ do however, is Loki straight up confronting him with bags in his arms and claiming that he has not encountered anything so dearly _traumatizing_ as that kiss, and that he’d rather swim through a sewer than actually hold up a completely normal conversation with Thor ever again.

Then again, the latter is the one which would most likely end up happening and Thor is already selfish enough to admit how much he wishes it won't.

When he’s finally grown himself a second pair and decides that rejection is a whole lot better than living a life of cowardice, he steps out of the car and runs into the apartment to find Loki.

With his heart hammering inside his chest and his shoes seeming to feel heavier and heavier every step, Thor finds walking to Loki’s room a challenge he’s never really found to be difficult.

Turns out, Loki seemingly had no plans of holding up a conversation about whatever had just transpired between them, because when Thor finally reaches his door, it was only a millisecond away from being closed shut.

“No, wait.”

The last time he’s said that, things didn’t exactly turn up well.

Thor wedges a foot between the door and the door frame. Loki looks up from where he was gripping the doorknob and quirks a questioning brow. He’s already in his night gown, appearing to be ready for bed, appearing to be ready to forget whatever mistake they both seemed to have the guts to make.

“I’m tired, Thor. If you want to talk, you can—”

“No, it’s just—” Thor cuts himself off. Breathing. Holding onto the thread. No, if he apologizes, things won’t fix themselves anew.

He remembers Odin, how he’d react if he found out. Would he want an apology as well?

“I’m sorry, Loki.”

There’s a second where only silence matches the ache in his chest, where Loki is reduced to just staring at him with an undecipherable expression. No sound, not a single gesture, or the fluttering of eyelids in calm anxiety. Thor waits, and waits. He doesn’t know if he should say something else. He probably should, but he finds himself at a loss for words because he has _nothing_  else to say.

And it's all because everything has already been said.

“Will things change?”

When Loki speaks, he speaks of a question Thor is not expecting, let alone prepared to deal with. He has none of the words suited to answer what his brother wishes to know, so Thor holds his breath and entrusts his voice to conceal his uneasiness.

“Do you want them to?”

For a while, Loki does not answer, neither does he open the door wider for Thor to step in. It’s a moment of silence where suspense becomes the one to test Thor’s patience. In the quietness of the room, Thor finds himself wishing his brother would end up recoiling and just confess _yes, yes_ —

“No.”

No. Loki had said no.

“Okay,” Thor nods, understanding. Smiles, conceals the obviously pained falter.

And no, Thor’s chest is totally not hurting at the moment. His foot slides out from where it was wedged between the wood to prevent the door from shutting. Five of his fingers tremble, the ones that once gripped Loki’s arm almost rigorously before a kiss was shared. Thoughts swarm his head in a hazy illusion of solitude. _At least_ he won’t lose his Loki, _at least_ Thor won’t have to end up walking into his grave alone all because he had been a creep that made out with his brother when he was twenty-one.

This is when Thor looks at Loki’s face, _actually_  looks at him and finds only his brother staring back. There’s no future in those eyes, no tomorrow for Thor where he wakes up comforted by the idea of someone looking after him and providing him his needs which Loki, who is his _brother_ , will never be able to satisfy.

Loki’s eyes hold sadness, another emotion for when guilt just refuses to come out. Thor gifts himself the opportunity to relish in that sadness, just for once. His life has come to a point where any attention given by his brother, be it pity or dejection, is better than no attention given at all.

Until:

“That’s not going to happen, isn’t it?”

There’s a sign of defeat in Loki’s voice, one that nearly comes close to _hope_ , and Thor cannot help the relieved chuckle that threatens to break out from his throat.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Thor leans forward the same time Loki pushes the door far wider. When they meet again halfway, it’s nothing like the one they shared back at the party. This time, Thor offers everything of himself, and Loki promises to hold on.

Thor’s hand crawls to the skin behind Loki’s neck. He doesn’t dare pull away, not yet, not when he’s only just tasting the grin on Loki’s face and the wild thumping inside his own chest is a sound too ecstatic to ignore all the way. So they stay like that, sharing the same breath, finally finding peace and mutual understanding after years and years of conflict.

When Thor pulls away, he does it slowly, flickering his eyes from the lips he’s just kissed to the eyes of his brother that never seem to stop glowing.

“I don’t,” Loki starts, trailing off as quickly. One of his hands move to his face to cover Thor’s that now rests against his cheek. Their eyes meet. Inaudibly panting, they breathe in each other once more. “I don’t know what I want.”

“I do,” Thor says, grabbing Loki’s hip and pulling him in. Somehow, under the light cascading from Loki’s window and between the tight corners of the room that now reeked of liquor, Thor has never felt so untroubled. “I just want you back.”

For once, Loki seems to agree with him, if the smile that flashed across his grim features is any indication. Thor only hopes that he will have the courage to keep on going, to be the best kind of determined if it means keeping that genuine smile secured on Loki’s face.

That night, they don’t sleep in the same bed, for it is a territory Loki feels they are yet prepared to cross. Instead, Thor holds him until he drifts away, with warm tentative arms around Loki’s slim waist and the promise of a better tomorrow engraved by lips to his pale skin.

Thor understands the downside to his new relationship with his brother, doubts the idea that their father would even take another step onto the same grass as them if he ever finds out about the touches shared or the promises they whisper to each other at the midst of the night.

None of this will be acceptable to either of their parents, and yet Thor _accepts_ that.

Sometimes they encounter problems that well test the limits of their patience, and the nights they spend together nowadays end up becoming more and more of a night of shared outbursts and well-hidden crying.

There are some nights where Thor is able to situate himself perfectly where a sibling should go and where a lover should be. On other nights however, Thor forgets drawing a line between those places and straight up starts acting as if he could well manage underneath both burdens.

And Loki helps him, both with caresses and sharp words a sibling must somehow always use to advise the other. Apart from their domestic life in the secrecy of their apartment, nothing has really changed. Thor graduates and Loki continues semesters in college, but when he wraps up the tiresome day, it is Thor’s arms he returns to.

Thor understands, but he hasn’t quite accepted all of it. He continues to look back to their past as fearless children, then to the remaining days of their youth before Odin’s words had completely shaped their lives. He tries to understand __why__  their father had deemed it a necessity to separate them at an early age, and later on learns that Odin just _had_ to because they have _always_  been like that. 

It was destined to happen.

When he sees Loki beam at him when he comes home from work, Thor is reminded of everything they had to go through before finally reaching this state of contentment. For what it’s worth, the risk they’re taking is huge. And while Thor takes it, he’ll might as well just accept _everything_ that he gets. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Do tell me what you think if you please! Feedback is always appreciated. :)
> 
> Come find me as @lokisgoldenhorn on tumblr to catch my fic updates.


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